TARR FARM.
 ( An Exmoor Kitchen Garden.) 

 

Over the Barrows,
And far away,
The windward spirits play,
Over the Stones,
The Blessed Stones,
Bridges,
And Stones,
Where the rivers ran,
Tiring,
Through the leaves,
The awful leaves,
Hiding the Deer,
That Pant to drink,
Colouring my flavour,
Of an Exmoor Kitchen Garden,
Of Berries, red,
And their blood,
When a Trout is bagged,
The Table is set,
and the Brace are hung,
For Mothers favourite Pantry,
Pot,
With returning Beaters,
And their Guns,
To eat their fill,
At an Exmoor Kitchen Garden.